Hollow
by Italy's Driving
Summary: America's been missing for six moths. He disappeared on his birthday. Now, his fellow Nations have found him. He's back in his families arms, but not whole. Now dealing with the struggles of his new... disabilities America also has to deal with the continued threat of one person from his childhood. Of Doctor English.


Prologue: Six Months Ago

 **Ever get really annoyed at people 'cause they're not doing what they're supposed to be? Yeah, me too. I am also not focusing on what I should be. But I have a short attention span, you can't blame me. And this wouldn't leave me alone. Anyway~! This is, like, angst. Angst and torture and lil bit of family fluff with FACE and British Isles. Plus a bit of the other colonies of England, 'cause why not? Savvy? Good! Greece!**

 **Greece: Italy's Driving… does not… own Hetalia… Because Hidekaz… Himaruya does…**

 **He sounds like me in math class. Let's do this shit!**

THE BALTIC AND THE NORTH SEAS DON'T MIX DUE TO DIFFERING DENSITIES

As opposed to the cliche as it sounds, it did not happen anywhere near the time of a meeting. It did not happen before or after or during. It happened around midsummer. It was his birthday, though he had elected to spend the day alone that year. He was perfectly happy being alone, as he wanted to spend the day just wandering through his country. It happened in midafternoon. He was laying behind his house, gazing eyes closed and face pointed towards the sky. He never even saw the men approaching from behind.

He noticed their presence, when a rag covered his mouth. America's eyes flew open, blue orbs flickering rapidly around the yard. They landed on two men. Both were taller than him by a quite a few inches, and both had more visible muscles, as opposed to America's muscular yet wiry frame. One of the men had brown hair and blue eyes, with a large scar running down the left side of his face. The other had blond hair and green eyes. His face wasn't handsome, not like the other's, more average actually. If you looked at him, you might say he were cute. But as soon as you looked away you wouldn't think of him again. He wasn't ugly, nor handsome. Merely, plain.

America struggled around, for once grateful of his monstrous strength. Even as unpredictable as it was. However, he found that he was unable to harm the men in as severe a way as he would usually be able to. In fact, he could barely move his limbs at all. The two men chuckled to themselves at the distressed look on his face.

"Yeah, that little rag in your mouth right now? Soaked in a solvent all the good doc's invention. It'll eliminated all of that strength you got there, buddy. Even the stuff you got through working out," the brown haired one with the scar said. America glared, unable to do anything else.

"Good thing his strength is gone, he looks like he wants to knock your head off your shoulder," the other one chuckled. America glared harder, "Aw~! C'mon, pretty boy, wipe that look off your face. It doesn't suit you. Besides, you gotta be ready to have some fun." with that it all went black.

SARCASTIC PEOPLE TEND TO BE MORE CREATIVE

America had been locked in the room for hours. Although he's not sure how many, only that it has been hours. Usually, he'd complain about how boring it was. However, he was far too angry and nervous to be bored. His head spun around as fast as he could make it, trying to see any form of escape. However, the only door he could find had no handle.

"Well. I don't seem to have a handle on this situation," America said aloud. He frowned down at himself afterwards. "I've been alone too long if I'm making puns at myself."

"I do believe you've only been alone for a few hours, now. Two at most,hmmm," a voice behind him said. America swiveled his head around in an attempt to catch sight of the owner of the voice. However, the man stayed out of his line of sight. Eventually, America elected to hang his head against the back of his chair, looking at the man upside down. The man laughed. America couldn't help but feel the laugh was familiar. In fact, everything about this man was familiar to him.

"Who are you?" America's voice was cold and annoyed. The man laughed again. His laugh was high-pitched and grated on America's nerves.

"I'm sad you don't remember me, Alfred," America flinched at the usage of his human name, "We spent so many years together, hmmm?" Alfred shivered. The verbal tic at the end unnerved him.

"I… you seem familiar, but I can't place you," America admitted.

"Oh? That's good, hmmm. Of course, I'm not the original me, hmmm. I've been remade several times,hmmm. But I still me, hmmm," the man said, moving to straddle America on the chair.

"H-how did you know my name," America asked, pulling his head away from the man.

"I know _all_ about you, hmmm. I know you get sleepy when people rub your tummy, hmmm. I know you're adorable when sleepy, hmmm. I know you purr like a cat when anyone runs their hands through your hair, hmmm. I know you don't know how to read or write, hmmm," the man said, "I know that alcohol makes you childish and _very_ submissive. I also know that you smoke and enjoy the taste it leaves in your mouth."

"H-how do you know that stuff," America stuttered.

"That's not all. I know you like it when people blow smoke in your mouth during a kiss, hmmm. I know that you're obsessed with keeping your teeth nice, hmmm. I know _everything_ about you, hmmm," the man said. America froze. There was only one man in the history of America's life that knows that he likes smokey kisses. And he was supposed to have died more than three centuries ago.

"D-doctor English…?" America trailed off, staring at the man sitting on him.

"Glad you remembered, hmmm," Dr. English said, smiling lecherously. America's throat grew dry,his eyes widening.

A PARISIAN STREET MIME WAS SO COMMITTED HE GOT STUCK IN HIS INVISIBLE BOX AND DIED OF STARVATION IN 1843

 _Six Months After the Last Paragraph_

The concrete was cold. America could feel it through the thin nightgown Dr. English had provided him. His lungs burned for air, as the corset that Dr. English had placed around his chest was so tight it constricted his breathing. America didn't look up. There would be no point at this time. He heard a commotion outside, but still didn't look up. It was probably just the guards messing around again. Suddenly, the door banged open. America's head cocked to the side, but remained fixed on the ground. The footsteps weren't any of those that he had come to recognize, but still seemed familiar to him.

"Oi! Arthur! I found the lad!" America's head snapped up and towards the speaker, eyelids wide open. Scotland gasped at he empty eye sockets that stared at him.


End file.
